


Pictures of Lily

by anomalousity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:59:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1452949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousity/pseuds/anomalousity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel almost growls as he glares at his lap.</p><p>Three times today and he still hasn’t managed to take care of his problem. It’s no lie that it’s plagued him more and more in the weeks since he’s been at the bunker with the Winchesters, and he tries not to think about why the sudden influx has occurred.</p><p>Nonetheless, Castiel, purveyor of all four planes of existence and master of universal intelligence, is stumped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures of Lily

Castiel almost growls as he glares at his lap.

Three times _today_ and he still hasn’t managed to take care of his problem. It’s no lie that it’s plagued him more and more in the weeks since he’s been at the bunker with the Winchesters, and he tries not to think about why the sudden influx has occurred.

Nonetheless, Castiel, purveyor of all four planes of existence and master of universal intelligence, is stumped.

Thankfully, he has his own room. Unfortunately, it’s just across the hall from Dean’s room and he hadn’t had the foresight to close his door before settling onto his mattress. He can hear Dean’s raspy voice singing lyrics to some band he’s sure he remembers… Van Halen! Castiel knows this one, something about a fabric of sorts.

He shakes his head, scraping his nails over his scalp before collapsing backwards onto his pillow and finally resigning. Heaving a breath, he speaks.

“Dean,” he calls. The notes break off and something drops to the floor with a thud, followed closely by a muttered curse. Castiel shrugs before continuing, “I need your help.”

Footsteps pound unevenly across the wall and through the doorway to Castiel’s bedroom. He quickly pulls his blanket over his lap, trying and probably failing to conceal the _protrusion_. When Dean’s smiling, curious face looms into view, a betraying blush colors his cheeks and isn’t that just _perfect_.

The faded green in his eyes catches as he glances at the light. “What do you need, Cas?”

He looks so earnest and eager to help, and Castiel hardly knows how to phrase what he needs without implying the truth. He supposes this is what Dean would call ‘frying like day old shit in the desert,’ but he much prefers to ignore the comparison. Though, the thought of fecal matter is doing wonders to quell the blood flow feeding his problem.

Castiel rubs his fingers over his brow, a habit he picked up from spending numerous hours researching anything to get his grace back with Sam. He smiles at the memory, feeling his blush fade before he glances up at a smiling face with pleasant intentions.

“Dean, I have an erection.”

It’s almost comical how quickly the red colors over Dean’s cheeks, his ears, his neck. His eyes pop out too, adding to the overall comedic affect. And Castiel would have probably laughed, had he not been busy reflecting the red on his own features. Instead, he glares daggers into his nervously fiddling fingers, doing nothing to conceal the hard line of his erection though the thin blanket.

“That’s-” Dean sputters momentarily, his voice climbing an octave before he clears his throat and continues. “That’s, uh… What do you want me to do about it?” Oh, that’s suspicion in his voice.

Castiel sighs before forcing the blush from his face and gathering his resolve. He hazards a glance at Dean’s face, still radiantly pink, freckles and green bright against the alarming hue. “I don’t need _you_ to do anything about it.” Though, he wouldn’t object in the slightest. “I just don’t know how to, um, _take care_ of it.”

He knows he’s crossing a multitude of boundaries, asking things he shouldn’t ask. But he can’t help it; it’s bound to happen again, and while he knows what he should do in theory, he’s never been forced into a situation where he has to relieve himself of the hot pressure.

Castiel steels himself and fixates Dean with an expectant grimace.

Dean shifts on his feet, eyes focused on his toes as he brings a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Well, uh, I’m sure you could… We could go to a bar or something­-” Castiel shakes his head, cutting off the thought as it departs Dean’s lips. “Um, you could watch something? You can borrow my laptop, I’ll go get-”

“I don’t require any imagery to stimulate the release. I just want it gone.”

Dean’s blush returns, though less fluorescently, and he lifts his gaze with an understanding nod. After a moment’s hesitation, he speaks. “So you just wanna clean out the pipes?”

Though Castiel has never heard the idiom, he can assume the meaning. He nods.

It’s amusing, watching as Dean searches for words. Castiel understands that it’s an awkward topic; human sex has been considered taboo since the earliest years of human suppression. Dean wouldn’t be an exception to that fact, despite his promiscuous nature.

When he finally speaks, it’s different than Castiel expected. “Have you touched it?”

Castiel tilts his head. “Touch it?”

He receives a petulant roll of eyes, followed closely by a flash of pink before Dean sighs and crosses the room. He perches himself at the foot of Castiel’s bed, glancing towards the door before inching closer and facing Castiel. “Yeah, you’ve gotta touch it.”

“How?”

“You know, you just sort of do this-” He makes a circle with his hand, holding it up to Castiel. “And you, uh, wrap it around your, er, _erection_.”

Castiel knows he shouldn’t ask for a demonstration; thinking about it sends a traitorous zing down his spine and he quells the thought of freckled skin coated in a sheen of sweat. He can’t think about that, he _won’t_ think about that. He swallows and glares at the bulge which, if anything, has only grown bigger.

“Okay,” he murmurs, clasping his hands over his stomach. “I’ll try that.”

Dean’s face flashes red again and he pushes himself from Castiel’s bed. His hands are trembling at his sides, knuckles popped white under the thin membrane of pretty, tanned skin. Castiel shakes his head, clearing any thought of Dean from his mind as he watches Dean’s retreat.

Just as he’s stepping into the hall, Dean spins on his heel and offers Castiel a small smile. “Cas, I told you that you could ask me anything, and I meant it.” He belts out a gruff laugh before running his fingers through his hair. “I guess I wasn’t really expecting this question but, uh, I guess I’m glad you asked?” His voice creeps up at the end of his sentence, brows lifting as he appraises Castiel.

Castiel lets a smile tug at his lips. “Yes, you were quite helpful.” If only Dean knew just how helpful he’d been. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean nods before stepping out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. As soon as he hears the clink, Castiel goes to work divesting himself of his jeans and pushing the blanket past his knees. The flesh is reddened, a vein puffing out at the side, and the tip is wet in a viscous clear liquid.

Hesitantly, he follows Dean’s instructions. He makes a circle with his right hand, carefully sliding it over the wetness towards the top before sliding it downwards and he can’t bite back the moan that leaks past his lips. His head falls backwards into the pillows and his hips push upwards into his fist

It feels _wonderful_.

Slowly, almost painfully, he pulls back up. He squeezes his fingers tighter on the drag, eliciting a sharp hiss as more drops of the clear liquid seep from the reddened slit. He continues his drag and pull slowly before something warm curls in his gut.

Faster and faster, rougher and rougher, his hand pumps along the length of his cock, greedy hips pumping into his fist as though that’s what they’ve wanted all along. He can’t believe he couldn’t figure this out on his own; the pleasure is almost dizzying.

That being, he hardly gets a warning before the heat lashes out of his control and milky droplets of hot semen spurt from the tip.

He throws his head back, back arched as he continues stroking himself even through his orgasm. His wordless moans subside into croons that sound suspiciously like a name. So suspiciously in fact that when he finally comes off his high, he hears a knocking coming from his door.

“What?” he pants, barely able to pull in enough air to form the word.

“You called for me?” Dean asks.

Castiel can almost feel his heart stop dead in his chest. He blinks his eyes once, twice, and then once more just to gather his bearings enough to figure that this is _real_. It’s real, and he moaned his best friend’s name as he came.

“I, um-” What do people normally say in this situation? Castiel doesn’t know; he’s never really considered anything between himself and Dean before, at least nothing sexual. He hardly vocalizes his affections, even if they are extremely present and it’s a struggle for him to keep them strained when his eyes trace the pouty slope of Dean’s plump lips, or the hard, strong lines of Dean’s hands, or the gap between his bowed thighs that Castiel could easily slip into-

Castiel shakes his head, ignoring the pleasant image as his lips form around words that he knows are lies the moment he thinks them. “I’m fine.”

As Dean would put it, Castiel is screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> Song: [Pictures of Lily](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BmkBroiw1s&feature=kp)


End file.
